Xior stood in front of the unmoving Acheron, who sat on the throne and just observed him with her crimson eyes.
Xior's words did not come out, as if her presence forced his mouth to remain closed and not to make a noise without her command.
One of the hands on the throne twitched and she raised it, only to close it as she formed a fist.
Xior felt an imaginable pressure enveloped his body, he felt as if an invisible hand had grabbed his body.
Blood dripped from the ceiling and Xior writhed to break free, then she moved her hand once more, his world stumbled as she twisted and turned his body.
She inspected his body, from top to bottom. But she didn't utter a single word. It was as if she was not interested in him.
His scent was different, it reminded him of an old acquaintance–of someone who was also betrayed like her.
Apart from that nothing about him was anything spectacular, if he was in a novel then he would've been a side character who died early on.
